you can hardly make a friend in a year

but you can easily offend one in an hour

Biryu Castle, or what many a man called the Shining Fortress, was a palace complex at the heart of Jinsei Province, from the north-western borders of Kuuto. Though not as immense and grand as Hiryuu Castle, the palace was an ancient magnificent sight surmounted on a hilltop.

As it was elevated by stone platforms hedged with trees of red pine and flame trees, one can see the sprawling view of the villages, the terraced rice fields, and the abundant verdure surrounding the bountiful lands. The main keep was a pale shimmering white against the sun, beneath elegantly curved roofs that are painted in crimson; storehouses, baileys, and corridors strewn the property, connected by a series of gates and winding paths.

It had an almost labyrinthine character to its structure that made it more distinctly defensive than aesthetical, unlike the flat palatial grounds of Suiko Palace. Biryu Castle had been centuries older and was miraculously preserved from the harsh era of warring clans and feudal lords, which had merited it as the regal residence of previous kings, once upon a time, before the construction of Hiryuu Castle.

It told so much of the lord and his family that resided there and the life they lived from the outskirts of the great capital.

It was a cruel metaphor, almost.

The thought never escaped me that this was also the place where Soo-won was born.

—

The first thing I recalled was that this was my first venturing out of Suiko.

At the time, I felt as if I was being offered more as a present than a guest. I was swaddled in a dress of layered pale silks under a thick overcoat; the painted lilies swayed to and fro from a sea of blue fabric. My movements were impeded by the stuffiness of my ensemble, as the highland climate was cold and the grandeur was heavy. Impressions are a must, so Mother claimed—and I relented.

Trailed behind by an entourage of servants, Mother and I were received from the antechambers by a pair. There Lady Yong-hi was; in her finery, once one laid eyes upon her nothing described her more but beautiful. It'd been curious meeting Soo-won's mother, as I was more familiar and expectant to encounter his father. "Welcome," she greeted, a faint chime clinked from the gold ornaments on her hair. "The journey must be long. Come, I have prepared a spread for you, and perhaps, we shall talk about your trip," locking eyes with my mother, she further said: "I'm certain you have so much to tell."

Mother chuckled in response. It was high-pitched and tinkling, like a bell. "Why, of course, dear Yong-hi. Whenever had I ever been such a bore?" she teased, and then landed her blue eyes on the Lady's son that stood beside her; a child double of his mother, clad in a gold and cerulean weave. "My, how are you, my little lordling?"

At the sight of the boy, Mother was well-nigh at the brink of squealing. Although Soo-won didn't have stunning features that outmatched other noble children, he did possess a head of golden hair that haloed over a cherubic face that would likely endear my mother to heart. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been fair at all, but I did find him a bit too young. Had I expected him to be older? Maybe. Regardless, it made no difference that I'd just been staring at another boy.

Wearing a cordial smile, Soo-won tipped his head. "I am well, Lady Han-byeol. Thank you."

High voice, I noted, sighing inwardly. The silent part of me was simply waiting for a snappy retort from Haru coming out from somewhere, words playing in his snickering sardonic tone: "Li, maybe you should call him 'Princess' from now on, eh? Betcha he's more like one than you are."

I chastised myself after that. It wouldn't do anyone good to belittle him because he came off a bit girlish.

From the Lady's tearoom, there the initial socializing began. Lady Yong-hi was a good host. Sitting opposite of her, I observed that there was a foreign quality in her beauty, like that of a desert flower in a regal garden. She carried herself with a gentlewoman's grace and words, wearing all the prestige and charm of a Koukan lady. However the intensity of her sharp blue eyes seemed to still be at odds with the delicacy of her mannerisms and countenance.

Regardless, it didn't change my opinion of her. Lady Yong-hi was Soo-won's mother and the respected consort of the currently absent Crown Prince. There wasn't much to say beyond those superficial titles of the person beneath.

It was during the prolonged conversations of our mothers that we did occasionally steal cursory glances at each other, and in those short intervals, I did affect a pleasant smile on my lips, which he returned with a nod; whenever he did so, blond strands of hair would fall just at his brow and he would tirelessly push them back at the curve of his ear. Small ears, I noticed. Sometimes, he would even tug the collar of his robes, as if it was too large for him. Those were insignificant details, but the more I became attentive of his idiosyncrasies, the more my curiosity grew for this child. Yet still there was no shine in his eyes.

The dread then settled on my gut upon the suggestion of my mother, whom enthused that their children should spend time together to get more acquainted. What was supposed to be for the sake of creating a friendship had been a cunning front to encourage our compatibility in engagement. Of course, Mother was that conniving and driven. This was evident further when she whispered to my ear: "Make him like you, sweetling."

I grimaced at that, pushing her advice at the back of my head. I didn't let the pressure gnaw me inside out once I was left alone with the boy from the eastern gardens. Beneath the fiery-gold and crimson foliage of a flame tree we stood in awkward silence and anticipation. From that distance, we were being watched by my bodyguards and his. Distractedly, I mulled if Se-hun was commenting how stiff our interactions were.

It's probably true. I proposed meekly, "I suppose we should walk around?"

Soo-won abided. "All right."

And so we did.

After that, there wasn't much of a conversation, honestly. Soo-won was keen enough to keep up with our exchanges; nothing too deep, just simple platitudes and pleasantries. Perhaps, he was aware of the position that he was uncomfortably thrust in just as I was. Here we are, beautiful children stuck in a beautiful garden, an arm's breadth close with far distant voices. Someone may say it'd just been a child's reticence, but it never once occurred to me that he would be this taciturn.

From the manner we kept breaking away our stares, I interpreted it as reluctance. His smiles weren't as bright as I thought it would be. Soo-won was very polite but I had to endure a lifetime of pretension to recognize such behavior for insincerity.

—

"—so you're not impressed."

Basking in the shade beneath the old birch tree from the stables, I was lying down flat on my stomach on the cool grass. Sweat prickled on the base of my neck and my arms, clothe in long olive-green sleeves made of soft linen gauze. The air was warm and humid, and just from the branch of each tree, the cicadas trilled their songs. I would have appreciated it more if I brought a paper fan with me.

"Nope," I managed to utter, prodding the little daisy near my face.

Haru snorted. "I don't see what's the problem, Li," he began, sprawled on the ground next to me in his wrinkled clothes. I was tempted to pluck out the weeds from his shirt. "I mean, look, from what you told me, he doesn't seem interested in you in any way." He idly picked up the book next to me, squinting his eyes at the random page he was currently trying to comprehend.

I winced. "Thanks for the heads-up there," I said dryly. "Should definitely come to you for advice."

"No problem," Haru humored me with just as much sarcasm. "Anyway, it's not like you like him either," he pointed out after mumbling out the misread character 'disappointment' with 'fate', which I corrected him on. He shrugged it off, anyway. "You didn't want to meet him, right?"

I blinked. Rolling back, I stared at the dappled sunshine from the leaves above me. "Well, yeah," I mumbled, half of it to myself. "I know I'm not really supposed to like him. First impressions aren't really the most reliable when knowing someone. But it's just that he's so," I tried to grasp for the right words: "fake—and uninterested. . ."

There came a soft rustle and then a sparrow took its flight; its striped wings caught the light.

"You mean like yourself?"

I felt a twinge from my chest at the retort. Before Haru could notice me react, he elaborated further: "Okay, you're not really fake to some people. You know, like me," he told me as he comfortably reclined his back on the bark of the tree. "But you're always like that to a lot of people. The ones you don't like," and then he shrugged, returning the book back to my side. "You keep hiding a lot of things to yourself, actually."

"Oh," I uttered in a frail tone. "Is that how you see me?"

The moment his dark eyes pulsed wide was the time he realized what he said. It'd been the blunt truth, regardless. "Well. . ." Haru awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Um. Yes? Erm, just a bit, uh, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person or anything!"

Haru said that last statement in a desperate attempt to not offend me further. Loudmouth as he was, Haru wasn't the sort to sugarcoat, and whenever he did attempt to lie, he'd been so terrible at it. It became quite apparent now when he was all but a flustered and flailing mess, failing to conceal a truth that he shouldn't be so afraid of confessing. A string of curses raced from his lips, and then there I realized I may have been silent for a second too long.

"Hey, shit, I'm really bad at this . . ." Haru was beginning to stutter, his heart on his mouth. "I'm—"

"Kid, calm down," I retorted, giving him a chance to breathe. "I know. I just asked."

"Yeah, but the last thing I wanted to happen is seeing you get all teary-eyed from it."

"Please. I'm not going to cry over that," I admitted before having the nerve to snicker in front of his face. "Pfft, it was very sweet of you to care, though."

"Li, stop laughing," Haru grumbled, flushing from his neck to the tips of his ears. "I just don't like crying girls, okay? It's . . .it's," he was bumbling again, groping for words that seemed to slip passed his mouth.

I finished his sentence. "Frustrating?"

"Yeah. That." Haru folded his arms on his chest, huffily blowing a strand of hair from his face. He cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, are you over it? Your prince."

I began to ponder when we agreed to call him that. Sure, Soo-won had a legitimate claim but he wasn't officially a prince, per se.

I sighed. The fault of the matter, perhaps, was from the fact that I may have guiltily relied on my expectations on this one. Though it'd been a trait of his to be insincere, Soo-won had this precociousness and boundless curiosity in him that I did admire for his age. I always had this image of him as the cheerful boy who'd venture out in the open and explore, and that in some way, take some mild interest in An Lili, as he had in canon.

Even though in a pragmatic sense, I was still adverse to the idea; I would have personally wanted to know what everyone saw in this child, his intelligence, his natural charisma, that outshines all behind the façade of a brilliant smile. I wanted to meet that Soo-won.

The best answer I could give him was an undecided shrug.

Out of kindness, Haru commented, "He's a snob?"

I went along with it. "Definitely a snob."

Haru rubbed his chin, thinking aloud: "guess snobs can't befriend snobs then."

I nodded in agreement. I never really liked Soo-won—and, maybe, he never liked me either in his distance.

—

The second time I came back to Biryu Castle, it'd been late autumn.

I remembered the heavy rains and the thunderstorms that churned the graying skies; the outpour in the village and the puddles on stone roads, crimson and golden-orange maple leaves afloat on shallow water. The warm heady scents of roasted chestnuts and smoked venison, along with ripe pears and apples and persimmons on each fruit stall, wafted in the cold crisp air. The streets of Jinsei Province were lively.

Biryu Castle was untouched by the commotions of the people for the ongoing harvest festival. However in compensation, Lady Yong-hi had prepared a fine spread. There was radish soup, coupled with steamed rice on bowls, dumplings on porcelain, and red vegetable stew on earthen pots. The scents of the dining room were spiced from the heat of thinly-sliced beef grilled from a brazier. The sauces came and went, along with pickled plums, cabbages, and cucumbers. Servings of cut fresh fruit and berry preserves were added to the variety, as well as the traditional half-moon rice cakes eaten during the harvest time.

The meals were bountiful and hot enough to warm the belly however the Lady had resigned herself to a simple dish of quail ginseng soup. In a sincere tone, she apologized for the absence of Soo-won; Prince Yu-hon was summoned for a quorum with the generals and so headed to the capital with his son two days ago. Mother was disappointed. I wasn't.

When the harsh rainfall had ceased, Mother and I approached Lady Yong-hi in tea and pleasant conversation from her tearoom. The Lady's beloved golden kerria shrubs were planted outside its open pavilion, where it'd been dewed and disheveled for a time. Then there came the simple mundane talks, how the noble ladies loved to share their personal tales. Mother showered her with compliments, as usual; however I knew better and so did she. Lady Yong-hi had grown pale and thin, like fine porcelain at the verge of shattering.

The fact alone was a saddening matter. All of a sudden, Lady Yong-hi coughed harshly from the handkerchief I had courteously handed to her awhile ago. Even then, she appeared delicate when she had done so.

Her handmaidens rushed over her trembling form, calling over her private nurses. As her fits faltered, Lady Yong-hi remained dignified as she held herself in her composure and her eyes found me. It was then I realized she had such beautiful eyes. It wasn't like my mother's or mine; hers were like the sea and one could drown in them from a glance. Like his, I thought distractedly.

Mother served her role as the friend and I the gracious daughter; it'd been one of the qualities I was sincerely fond of my mother as she held no duplicitous intention when she accompanied the Lady to her chambers. I was sent back to the guest house with a retinue of nursemaids at my side. It was over about an hour or so that a servant boy came to me unannounced, bearing a message.

He was rather young—a boy who seemed too young to be a common page boy. His presence was unimpressionable however I couldn't point a finger as to what made him somewhat important. "The Lady Yong-hi wishes for your presence," he said politely. "I am here to fetch for you, my lady."

I acquiesced to the request. Servants behind my back, I peered curiously at the boy. He was taller by a few inches and he had nice green eyes. He really seemed . . . familiar. As we trod about the corridors, I began, "How is the Lady faring so far?"

"She is recovering well," he informed. "My mother told me that her fits were only mild symptoms of her illness."

"If you don't mind me asking," I started, careful with the reservation in my wording. It was a matter of tone, even though I awfully disliked how I sounded: refined, unaffected—the practiced intonation of a water child. "Is your mother a healer?"

"Yes," he told me, his eyes gleaming with awe. "She is one of the Lady's healers, rather."

"I see." What followed after was a series of questions from my lips, which he kindly entertained each one with much enthusiasm. The servant boy was intelligent in a way. Whenever he spoke a word, he didn't chatter, but he would contemplate on each sentence first before uttering it aloud. Behind the reticent demeanor, I was impressed and so asked for his name.

"Ah, apologies, my lady," he said with a hand on his chest. "You may call me Min-soo."

That name. Oh my—

As the revelation sunk in and the recollection barged forward like an arrow to my chest, I tried my darnedest masking the shock in my face. I acknowledged him with a nod. "Thank you, Min-soo," the manner I voiced out my words had been surprisingly fluid and calm, even though deep within in me I was in a state of rapture. I drew a quiet breath.

Min-soo belatedly returned my gratitude with a simple exchange, as we came to a halt. Two servants flanked the Lady's bedchambers; the grand doors of rich red oak welcomed me as they parted for entrance, bronze latticework winking against the light. Telling my nursemaids to wait outside in which they accorded, I went forward to the Lady.

From her sickbed, her golden hair was undone, traces of sweat glistened from her brow and her pallor was still sallow, skin almost akin to glass with the way her blue veins stretched beneath, however I hadn't minded when she greeted me with a smile.

Her slender hand slipped out from a billowing sleeve, beckoning for me, and gestured toward the cushioned seat that was prepared for my visit. "Come sit," when I acceded to her request, letting myself perch atop my seat, Lady Yong-hi poised her hand to my left; a maidservant motioned at my side, setting up the porcelain china and the pastries on the single serving stand before curtseying away. "Please, help yourself to some of the cakes," she spoke politely. "I have heard from your mother you have quite a sweet tooth," and then in a lighthearted tone: "a sentiment I quite understand."

Bobbing my head in response, I opted on abiding to her offer as to not appear rude, pinching a half-moon rice cake between my fingertips. As I took a tentative bite, there was a soft crunch from the whole strawberry within.

Having eaten the cake, I held the handle of the teapot. "May I pour for you?" once she nodded, seemingly impressed, I then poured her cup and then mine. Despite the redundancy, I gently asked, "How are you, Lady Yong-hi?"

Lady Yong-hi smiled as she accepted the cup I handed to her. "I am fine," she replied, and after blowing the steam of her tea, she took a small sip. "I hadn't had the opportunity to properly thank you for your handkerchief," with a delicate tilt of her head, she continued: "and I am, Lili."

Once again, I let myself nod courteously. "I am pleased, my lady," lifting my cup to my lips, I drank. The brew was bittersweet, mildly spiced, with a hint of pine. I sniffed. Black tea.

Simply concluding that she summoned me in her bedchambers for a voicing out her gratitude had been quite a stretch; perhaps, this was Mother's working however I supposed that the Lady must have wanted to be more acquainted to me as my mother was her friend—or maybe, for reasons I didn't wish to dwell too deep into. I would have initiated the conversation first if she hadn't observed me quietly staring at the book on her lap. "Have you read this?" she asked amiably.

"The Gōchekin Manshu," I recounted, almost rekindling back my lessons in poetry. "Yes. It is being taught to me."

"Is that so?" her head tilted to the side, and I had to refrain myself from uttering aloud how much she resembled her son so closely in the future. "There was also a time I was being taught how to read it as well," Lady Yong-hi then cupped her chin in contemplation. "Kai-shū could be a tad difficult, however."

Careful not burn my tongue, I took another sip of my tea. "But I do find it lovely," I admitted. Kai had such a quaint beautiful language. It's no wonder the gentlewomen adored it so much.

Lady Yong-hi hummed. "Most people do comment that the Kai tongue is quite lyrical."

Feigning ignorance, I asked to prompt her further, "Why is that, my lady?"

"As the old saying goes, the words of Kai flow like a song."

I bobbed my head as an eager child would, though I caught the inflections of her voice; enthusiastic as it was, there was a touch of a weary reminiscence in it. For a fleeting interval, her blue eyes seem to gaze somewhere, far beyond the extravagant walls of her room. The windows were closed, and the whim to open them wide had never been so inviting upon having seen her a little too distant, a little too personal. Deciding to detract her from her musings, I drew up a genial question. "Do you like reading it?"

Glancing down at the book on her lap, Lady Yong-hi ran her elegant fingers on its worn cover. "Indeed," was her answer, with a soft smile on her lips. "Are you fond of reading, Lili?"

"Yes," I replied before drinking down the last sup of my tea.

Lady Yong-hi mirrored my actions before settling her cup back at the stand. "That is nice to know. I had a feeling that you were a curious child," there was a glint in her eye as she clasped her hands together. "My Soo-won is the same. Always so eager to learn, that boy."

A tad stunned from the disclosure, I wasn't able to respond back when Lady Yong-hi opened the poetry book and suggested, "Do you like a particular poem, Lili? I could read it for you."

I would have suggested a few poems but decided against it; instead letting her choose a poem she would favor reading for me. The Lady was a bit surprised at first from my answer, but after reasoning to her that I would rather hear her choice of poems since she was more fully familiar with the book than I was. She agreed in the end.

I craned my head closer at the page, eyeing the delicate cursive characters of the poem's title. The Chrysanthemum's Song. She breathed in and then recited in fluent foreign tongue:

"Here I turn gold, splendor of the sun,

Shall each stalk comfort me in this grief?

I have tasted the rain and the springs beneath

In the great Garden of the Maker

However I am drouth of sweetness

For I no longer seek for the morrow

But of the withered time that is lost."

Lady Yong-hi read more select passages and I soon complimented her for her eloquence. She even taught me how to read a few characters; simple words and sentences. Having picked upon my interest in literature, she was kind to recommend me a few books. As much as I appreciated it, I would confess that it did strain me from keeping myself in maundering about several advanced pieces that are unlikely for my age group to be piqued on, knowing she must have read them, and from her specific tastes, must have enjoyed as well at one point.

That afternoon, I realized, I began to grow fond of her company. I would have concluded that Lady Yong-hi was a good conversationalist, however what really won me was how she endeared me, honestly. It was odd, but there was something about her that drew me in a way; whether she would oft times bring her son in the talk, mentioning him through nostalgically reminiscing over an old memory, or converse about an entirely different matter.

She could go on for hours and I wouldn't mind listening, lending her an open ear that I understood she needed. To be frank, it'd been difficult maintaining the pretense of a five year-old girl in our exchanges, and deep down, I knew if I hadn't been a child, we might as well be friends as adults. Although it was a tad disappointing that she didn't play shogi, it never stopped me from coming to visit over.

Mother appreciated this cordial bond we shared, overtly more pleased with its progress as it went on, even going so far as to suspiciously comment that one time: "She makes such a good daughter, doesn't she?"

Lady Yong-hi agreed, playfully jabbing: "Han-byeol, if you're not careful, I might just take her away from you."

"Oh Yong-hi, you know she could be yours just as much as mine," Mother giggled. "I also find little Won quite precious. Almost like a son of mine."

Little Won. I grimaced at the not-so-subtle implication. I hid my sigh with a forced yawn. Mother, why. . .

It was by the fourth day of our stay that they returned.

The servants came to a halt and even the evening breeze seemed to falter at the pair. The father and the son. Grandfather Mosu told me once that you could tell a man's character from his stride; the Crown Prince's steps were headstrong and brutally precise. It was thunder and it made the very ground tremble. This was a man, I believed, who held power in a vice-grip.

However how could the boy flutter passed me like a cloud? It was light and swift and nothing like his father's.

When I realized I'd been staring, I bowed respectfully next to my mother before the royal, who regarded us with but a nod before entering the Lady's bedchamber. From the closing gap of the door, I could see a glimpse of the three of them. How small and mundane they were as a whole; the affectionate wife, the husband cupping her cheek, and the babbling child in the middle of his parents.

With a drawn breath, I looked away. Soo-won had such a bright smile; there was a radiance to it the moment he'd lift his lips up, as one would lift another's spirit. Despite his smile belonging to someone who would grow up to be a practiced liar, it was a precious one, free of deceit with a heart so full—and by god, some desperate part of me wanted it to remain like that. For all what he'd done, he never deserved his tragedy.

—

The third time we met, it was from the funeral of the Queen.

The world seemed to have wept in pale frost; upon the forked trees, the dormant winter roses, and the dark stagnant pond that froze overnight. I waded in the sea of black and white that mourned for their tragic Queen's loss, over the footmark trails and the grass that shone a ghostly gray against the light, appearing like a thousand tombstones protruding from an expanse of milky-white sand.

There were drums, a song of old tongue warbled in the long procession that climbed up on the marble steps of a great hill that led to the royal mausoleum, though as the miserable wind swept, a cuckoo wailed from the looming red pine, and had I known nature to be kind, the birdsong was lent as a formal dirge.

However as much as my mind insisted that it'd been for a monarch, a small part of me wanted it to be for my irrelevant death from another lifetime, where the people I loved mourned over my grave, and I, who had so little time, couldn't even part with a proper goodbye. Perhaps, my heart ached that day. I couldn't tell from my numbness from the cold. The noblemen and gentlewomen called it a 'child's innocent devotion', but the tears they claimed were no different from the snowflakes that melted on my cheeks; empty of virtue, full of wretched selfish sentiment.

When the ceremonies had been over and the lamenters returned back to their quarters from the main keep, my parents confronted me in the privacy of my chambers since it was an unlikely occasion for me to abruptly burst into tears. After all, hadn't Lili always been a happy child? While Father insisted to give me time by myself, Mother was the one who came to alleviate me. I couldn't say if her cooing relieved me, how her words tried to reach for me, as any parent would do: "You can tell me anything, sweetling."

It hurt, really.

How they were both concerned yet would still be kept in the dark, despite it all. They never deserved that. However here I was mumbling over my sentences that 'it's fine now' and 'I was just sad.' I wasn't certain if it'd been convincing, but Mother ceased inquiring me further about it, suggesting that I rest for the time being. The moment she left, the door closed in a dull distant echo and I was alone again.

Donning on a thick outer robe, I decided to seize the opportunity to leave. It'd been from impulse, just for a moment to breathe—because the room reminded me too much of Lili's home, with all its wide walls and closed windows. In my private stroll, we were joined by chance from the open hallways. Our greetings were simple and curt. Formal then, formal still. Soo-won was preoccupied at that moment, and I understood, grateful that he hadn't mentioned a word about the scene that occurred from the procession.

The boy was kind, though.

Soo-won asked for my hand, which I curiously acquiesced. From his white hemp sleeves, he placed a flower-shaped confection on my open palm. I blinked. "I was supposed to share it with Hak," he reasoned in the simplicity of a child's words, and then gently, with what I believed to be the quaint compassion of an adult's: "but I think you need it more."

For a while, I was speechless. I wasn't grieving—not anymore. However that modest smile on his lips made me realize how much the corners of his mouth pulled up in a certain way that compensated for an embrace or a pat on the back. There wasn't any reluctance in the gesture this time and it'd been comforting. After I muttered a word of thanks, he nodded and then excused himself because he'd been searching for his cousin.

He's just being nice, I thought, as I absentmindedly began to nibble on the candy. It'd been sweet from Jinsei's dried strawberries, sweeter from his unneeded generosity. And then sighing, I finally acknowledged: No, he is nice.

I roamed about then to the great walls of the palace. The dragon eyes of the tapestries seemed to watch over me from afar as the shadow beneath my feet grew larger and taller with each step. My gaze stretched on for miles, but here I am lost still.

In the afternoon, a stark blue-gray mist eventually hazed over the skies, the white sun peeking through ashen clouds. There was a saying that the winter winds were blown from the northern mountains where each peak was sharp and snow-capped. However from the rolling fog that settled over the lands, my eyes couldn't even draw the mountains silhouettes from such distance.

For awhile, I stayed in the garden, marveling over the camellia trees in the snow; their deep crimson flowers blanketed with a sheer lining of frost. It was a lovely contrast, I thought. It hadn't been like the white camellias in the south, where each pale petal shed had been no different from fallen snowflakes. Behind me, I could hear the soft crunch of footfalls on thick ice. I turned back in curiosity.

You're always the first to find me.

"Lady Lili," Dae-ho called after me, a long scolding sigh puffing over his lips. "Where have you been?"

"Wandering around," I teased, a tentative silence following after like the cold trail leaving my chapped lips, but I realized he didn't appreciate the vagueness of my words and so to reassure him, I appended: "the palace gardens. They're very lovely, you know," with a touch of humor in my voice, I continued on: "but I was hoping to find Queen Koshime's Red Garden."

Se-hun, who tailed behind his partner, cracked a knowing smile at my direction after having heard the jape. "How did that fare, my lady?" his voice hadn't lent a sarcastic tone, but it was one of cool ease and mirth. "Successful, I hope."

I tilted my head to the side, a rebellious lock of hair falling on my shoulder. "Not quite."

While Se-hun and I exchanged blithe glances, Dae-ho hadn't really acknowledged the joke just as much as his inquisitive stare focused on what I held on my hands, which were fried pancakes that were popularly hawked from outside the castle. The cheeky brat that I was; I had the gall to beam up at him. From his questioning brow, I had to reassure him that I ordered a servant to buy me the said pastries minutes ago. "I was hoping I could find the both of you," I reasoned, frowning a bit when they had preserved little warmth from the cold, despite being wrapped over with palm leaves. "But it would seem it wasn't necessary."

Reaching up in tiptoe, I gave them their fried pancakes. At this point, I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but it always brought an odd feeling when I came to realize how small my hands were compared to my bodyguards. It would make sense after all; they were adults, tall and hulking in stature, and although I had grown for the past few months, my fingers were still but delicately round and tiny. The thought always pestered me.

It was Dae-ho's voice that spared me from my musings. "I believe," he spoke, taking a bite of the bread, "you are intending to make me fat, my lady," as he thoughtfully chewed, the expression on his face in constant deadpan, I blinked several times to take note of the dry bluntness of his tone. Once the comment registered in my mind, the urge to snicker was resistless. Did he just make a joke?

Se-hun sent him a wry look, which Dae-ho responded with a shrug. Returning his gaze back at me, Se-hun tipped his head in appreciation. "You are very generous to us, Lady Lili."

It amused me to no end how different their reactions were. Such a strange pair, these two.

Before he helping himself with another bite, Dae-ho asked, "Are you feeling better so far?"

I paused right there. Gazing up at him, I would have replied if he needed a handkerchief because the crumbs on his uniform could be a tad distracting, but I hadn't because Dae-ho must have had a handkerchief to clean himself up with and that I knew it'd just be a foolish excuse to ignore the question. I bashfully nodded.

And then something caught my periphery. It'd been a second, perhaps. In my line of sight was a flash of gold—a wisp of hair, like twined sunlight. The wiser part of me stood its ground, the other more selfish one coveted in its unsated curiosity.

Se-hun called back my attention. "Does something bother you, Lady Lili?"

I smiled at him. "It was nothing."

Exposition Corner:

Gōchekin Manshu: in Koukan translation, it should mean 'The Book of a Thousand Flower Odes'; the term 'flower odes' pertaining to its flowery language used in a song-like form. An allusion to Shih Ching, a collection of classical Chinese poetry.

The Chrysanthemum's Song: a poem by Kai poet Shigeisa about a human soul being reborn as a flower. Although at first, it may seem like it holds more significance to Lili (and it does, literally), it still is Lady Yong-hi who chose the poem so this poem kind of reflects her life in a way.

Queen Koshime and the Red Garden: Queen Koshime was King Hiryuu's wife and the eldest daughter of Geon Siryeong, a vassal and sworn ally to Hiryuu and the Lord of Yune Province, now recently changed to Kuuto.

According to legend, the Red Garden is said to be a gift by King Hiryuu for his wife; its private grounds were known to be built at the heart of Hiryuu Castle. It was famous for its orchard of red camellias (the Royal family's emblem). There are little to no written accounts of the Red Garden and currently no sightings of the structure within the complex, which may have been burned alongside Hiryuu Castle during the Naosono Rebellion during the reign of King Dosaeng; Hiryuu Castle had been rebuilt two years after the rebellion, sparing only the sacred catacombs of King Hiryuu from the fire due to its structure being built below the castle, but most of the natives believe it to be due to their gods' intervention. Although the Red Garden's existence is questionable, it is a subject beloved by poets and bards due to it being timelessly deemed as King Hiryuu's affection for his wife.

So Lili meant that reference to be a joke. I know the exposition is overmuch but I find its small significance to this story kind of sweet. Who knows, maybe we'll learn more about Hiryuu and his wife, maybe not? Anyways, the Red Garden may be referenced again in future chapters.

A/N: Did I ruin your expectations in their meeting, perhaps? In my opinion, I find Soo-won being very selective in the people he does like, despite what canon says (he wouldn't be mourning over his friends in a quiet corner if he had an impartial relationship with everyone). I honestly think it has something to do with Lili being an insincere person herself and, well, we all know what Soo-won feels about potential betrothals. Don't worry, this is just the start *evilly laughs*. Also, don't rely in Lili's POV so much. She could be misinterpreting what she doesn't understand.

I also changed Min-soo's age. From the current timeline, ages would be: Lili [5], Yona [4], Hak and Soo-won [7], Haru [8], and Min-soo [10]. There will a one year timeskip in the next chapter so just add a year to these ages.

Sorry, if this came out more expositional than it should but I'm setting things up for the next one. Besides, there's more Soo-won and Lili interaction with a real conversation this time, promise. I'm so happy that some of you are quite interested in Haru and Old Guo from the last chapter—I don't like to spoil much, but they'll have a special role in this story. Once again, thank you for the feedback! I'm open for any questions and criticisms, if any.